


An Ever Fixed Mark

by My_words_fly_up



Series: An Ever Fixed Mark [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Falling In Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:08:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5741470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_words_fly_up/pseuds/My_words_fly_up
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles lives quite scandalously in the slums of London and never expected to cross paths with a kind, well-bred gentleman like Louis Tomlinson.<br/>But once they meet neither will be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ever Fixed Mark

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part 1

            It was two days before Christmas and 1870 was almost over.  The girls were celebrating early, having gathered in the sitting room to share a bottle of watered wine.  The room was unusually festive and warm, with paper streamers dangling from the ceiling and garland strung along the mantle.  In the glow of a dozen candles the peeling, yellowed wallpaper did not look so dismal, the frayed and spotted crimson rugs not so dingy.  Someone had even spruced up the windows with holly and ribbon, though instead of curtains, pieces of rotting wood had been ruefully hammered in the place of glass that was too often broken. 

            Despite such lackluster surroundings, Harry Stiles was in positive spirits.  This place smelled of many different perfumes doing little to cover the scent of mold and sweat, but it was his home.  The rooms of Hartwick House were in much better condition than the sitting area, mostly because this space was rarely used.  Men who came to the house had other intentions that did not include lounging around in a sitting room. 

            “Look wot I got!”  Contance's voice squeaked suddenly over the chatter in the room.  She came bounding down the stairs dressed in a dark green robe, which in her excitement, she had forgotten to tie.

            The girls gathered around the open box Constance held out as she gingerly lifted a sparkling necklace for all to admire.  Ooohs and aaas followed as she turned the golden chain adorned with rubies in her fingers.

            “Yer lucky to have gotten a thing like that!”  Mary sniffed.  “I ain't got nothing yet!  Prolly won't this year.”

            Constance was the most recent addition to the house and was already doing well, for she was young with long legs and a large bosom.  Her face would be considered plain in any other light, but most were not so interested in her face.

            “Connie, you could sell that and not have ta work til next Christmas!”  Elizabeth said enviously.

            “I could never sell it!”  Constance clutched the necklace to her chest.  “It might be the best thing I ever have!”

            Harry's legs were draped over the armrest of a rickety settee, his head resting comfortably on Lucy's lap.  “I'm afraid you will not own it for much longer Connie, if you go parading it around like that.  Charlie will want it, like as not.  If you had any desire to keep it, you should have locked it away and never let on you had it.”

            Constance's smile faded as she realized the reality of his words.  Charlie Brocklesby did not allow for any of his own to keep such expensive gifts, for fear of robbery or retaliation by clients was too great.  A man may give such a gift at good times, but as soon times were hard he could come calling back.  Or even a wife might notice a piece of her own jewelry missing and report it unbeknownst to her husband and that brought the police, a group Charlie dreaded more than thieves.  He at least knew how to deal with thieves. 

            “Oh, yer right!  But I want to keep it so bad!”  Constance placed the golden necklace back into its box as if she were burying a loved one.  “It was given to me.  'Tis not fair.”

            “What about any of this is _fair_ , Connie?”  Lucy rolled her eyes and went back to playing with Harry's chestnut colored curls, lightly pulling on a strand and watching it bounce back.

            He could not help but wonder if Constance had already forgotten what it was like to be hungry and cold.  It had only been a year since Charlie plucked her from the streets and placed her in his business, seeing the potential in her though she had been dressed in rags and covered in soot.  Harry had come to be employed quite differently, and though now seventeen, still remembered the hunger and worse than that, the fear of what would happen if the next meal didn't come. 

            “But it's Christmas,” Constance whined with one last breath of defiance.  Though she was already building an impressive amount of clients, and some very generous ones it seemed, she was not above the strict rules.  No girl, and especially not Harry, were allowed to keep any of their gifts.  Each of them had their price, and that was all they could ever accept from their patrons.  They, of course, could not deny such things from the giver so as not to seem rude, but as soon as their patron was gone, the gift was turned over to Charlie.  Harry wondered if it was so no girl could sell any extravagant gifts and leave the house.  A girl could be dismissed for withholding fees or bad performance, but no one was permitted to leave of their own accord.  _Unless be_ _bought outright, at a hefty price_.  A girl would have to provide at least five years earnings, a price to cover the debt of room and food.  And so far in his seven years at Hartwick House, Harry had only seen one girl succeed in buying herself out of the house.

            The girls went back to laughing and gossiping over the crackle of the fire, while Constance stared longingly at a prize she could never have. 

            “It's slow for a Friday night,” Lucy remarked absently as she twirled a curl of Harry's hair around her finger.

            “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve love, our clients are busy being the good husbands and father's in the company of their families right now,” Harry stretched his long legs.  “Remember last New Years?  You hardly got an hour to yourself.”  Lucy had come to work at Hartwick House the same year as Harry, but she was two years older.  She had not worked her way from staff like himself, as she had been sold by her father.  Her hair was as red as fire, and until she had arrived requests for red heads could not be accommodated.  Harry had been an only child, but she was the closest thing he had to a sister.

            The clock on the mantle was always a few hours behind, no matter how many times it was wound, but it had to be after midnight.  Harry allowed himself to doze off, enjoying the massage of fingers in his hair and the warmth of the room, when the Big Man shook him out of his sleep.

            “Boy, yer got a customer!”  The Big Man always spit when he talked, the corners of his mouth bubbling with spittle.

            “Now?”  Harry asked sleepily.  Lucy slid away, for even after all these years she feared the Big Man.  Harry might have been afraid of him when he was a ten year old boy working in Charlie's kitchen staff, but not anymore.  Now he relished in how much the man loathed him.

            “Nah, someone's come to make an appointment next year.  'Corse tonight!”  The Big Man's left eye was much smaller than the right, and he stood at least seven feet tall.  Even without the squinting eye, he always wore a scowl, and Harry received more glowers than any of the girls, for he was especially hated.  The Big Man masked his feelings of Harry only when Charlie was around, and Harry enjoyed watching him struggle with it.  The Big Man thought Harry was lazy (he barely rose before noon) and laughed too easily amongst women.  He didn't understand why a boy was kept around at all, but the Big Man knew better than to question his employer.  Because although Constance was the new prized girl, Harry was the biggest earner for Charlie, and high amongst his favor.  He cost more than all of the girls, so though their beds were filled more often than his, he earned more at a time.

            “Get up to yer room, I'll send the _customer_ up behind ya,” The Big Man growled.  “And don't go thinking I won't tell Charlie I caught you sleeping on the job either!”

            “I'm sure Charlie won't find that surprising since I often sleep on the job.”

            This time The Big Man spit on his own accord as Harry headed to his room.  He occupied a room in the back of the house, while the front was taken up by the girls.  There were eighteen rooms in all, some of the rooms shared by girls who were less requested or getting older, but still had their specialties.  Harry had the biggest room, complete with its own entrance so his clients were given complete discretion.  A single candle would burn in the window if he was available, so no man need shame himself on being turned away or made to wait, for no man wished to be seen walking into Hartwick House, least of all, by way of the back door.

            Harry never bothered to tidy up his room, instead pushing old linens out of sight under his custom built bed.  It was the size of three beds put together, to provide ample space.  Even with such a large, four post bed, his room was furnished with a cushioned settle reupholstered in a burgundy fabric, an old, dark oak armoiur, and an end table for the oil lamp.  He and Lucy had salvaged a couple of gold and green rugs from a collapsed house, and had done their best to clean them, but he used the rug as a curtain since his room did not have one, and he was used to sleeping late in the day. 

            By the time Harry had the oil lamp burning the door opened.  He did well to hide his surprise.  “Francis!  How good to see you.  Please, come in!”

            Right away Harry noticed the tension in the man's body, having become adept in reading body language as a means to please his customers.  Francis was one of his more nervous clients, but his face appeared even more troubled this night.  The man had a pointed nose and eyes that were close set on a wide face.  Harry had long grown accustomed to reading his customers, it was the only way he would ever be successful.  Some wanted to talk, take their time, and delay.  Others did not even look at him and he was practiced averting his own eyes.  Francis Renard had been coming to him for two years, and was one of the more quiet ones.  He liked to be treated with courtesy, preferring a short greeting and a conversation about the weather.  A most useful, albeit surprising trait in his type of work, was Harry was well-spoken and he could carry on a conversation like any of his gentlemen clients.

            “Hello, Harry,” Francis responded quietly.  Despite his nervousness, his eyes danced about the room in a way they never had before.

            “Let me take your coat,” Harry offered, hoping to ease the man's nerves.  All of his clients dressed immaculately.  Harry could follow every trend of fashion, for the height of it was always worn by his customers.  Only one or two dressed in disguise when visiting him, and even then it was out of season jackets, but never inexpensive ones.  That seemed to be more trouble than it was worth to others, as someone could say they had gotten lost on Charrington Street by accident; it would be another thing to explain why one was dressed in rags in such a low end area.  Harry himself was dressed in a white pressed down shirt that had been mended so many times the thread was many different shades of white.  His slacks were a faded black, held only at his waist by a thinning belt.  Charlie never wanted him to dress as their equal, he thought it would intimidate them.  Harry disliked that notion, for he doubted the men even regarded what he wore.

            “No, no, you needn't do that.”  Francis rubbed his hands together nervously.  His coat was dusted with fine snow, though the room was rather warm. 

            Harry sat carefully on the end of the bed.  He knew never to press Francis, but he did not understand the man's intentions if he would not even take off his coat.

            “Are you having a lovely holiday?”  Harry asked casually, crossing his legs.

            Francis nodded.  “It is rather cold out today.  I still feel the chill.  Have you noticed how cold it is this year?”

            “Much colder this year, than last.”  Harry agreed, noting the beads of sweat collecting at Francis' brow.  “Would you like to sit down?”

            “No, no...I...uh...this...have you been approached by anyone... _unusual,_ these past few weeks?”

            Harry did not often leave the house by himself.  The Big Man was paid to protect Charlie's workers, but if they left the house on their own they were left to their own defenses.  The girls rarely had a problem, but Harry was a different story.

            “No, no one at all,” Harry answered with certainty.  “I took a stroll outside once this week.”

            Francis cleared his throat.  “Would you know if you had been followed?  You did not...encounter a priest?”

            Harry understood immediately.  He knew of the guilt some of the men felt when they came to see him, but guilt or no, men of class were not likely to ever feel so condemned that they should make such a confession to a holy man.  Some secrets were better taken to the grave.

            Francis had stopped rubbing his hands together and was waiting for an answer.  Harry had lived on the streets for two years prior to coming to this house and knew how to pay attention to his surroundings.  Those who could not read such signs always ended up dead.  “I would have certainly noticed someone following me, most of all a priest.”

            Francis breathed a sigh of relief, but Harry noted that his body remained tense.  “Excellent.”

            Harry waited patiently.  Francis seemed to be struggling with his own thoughts, the sweat now gleaming on his brow.  It was minutes before he spoke again.

            “Nothing to fret about, then,” Francis stated.  His gray eyes finally found Harry's green ones.  “I have a present for you.”

            “Oh?”  Harry leaned forward, still not certain what Francis had been thinking, and not expecting such a gesture from a man like Francis.

            Francis patted his coat pockets, and opened his eyes in alarm.  “I must have left it in my carriage.  How silly of me.  I must give it to you.  It is for Christmas.  Will you walk me down?”

            Harry did not move.  “You are not staying?”

            “No.  I only needed to speak to you.”  Francis smiled through thin lips.  “And to give you the gift.”

            “You shouldn't have.”  Harry played the part well enough, but he was not keen on walking Francis outside.  “Thank you.”

            Francis rubbed his bald head.  “You don't even know what it is yet!  Come, it must be sitting on the carriage seat.”

            “I am afraid my coat is in need of mending, and has been sent to the seamstress.  I will freeze out there!  I promise to wait at the door for you.”

            “I wish to give it to you...privately.  Here, take my coat.  I have a dozen layers on besides, so I am most warm.”  Francis wiped his brow with the back of his hand.  He quickly shrugged himself out of the fine tailored black coat lined with wool.

            “I could never!”  Harry protested, but Francis was already behind him, placing the coat over his shoulders.  The coat swallowed Harry's thin frame.

            “I must insist.”  Francis did not turn as he walked from the room.

            Harry was given no choice but to follow him, doing his best to hide his apprehension.  The Big Man should be lurking in the halls, he would definitely notice Harry leaving. 

            But the back of the house was quiet, and Harry did not see any sign of the Big Man.  Of course I wouldn't, Harry thought quickly.  _He won't be standing in plain sight, he knows the customers don't want to be judged, least of all by some brute._

            Francis' steps were light on the hay that had been laid in front of the door to stop the tracking of melted snow.  He pushed open the door and a cold breeze stung Harry's face.

            The carriage had been parked at a dead end street, a brisk walk away from Hartwick House.  Harry did not see a driver, but most likely the man had stolen away to a pub for a quick drink while his master took care of his errand.  Drivers knew enough to keep their mouths shut on such missions, else they would never be employed again.  They understood a man's needs for places like Hartwick House, and they would have no idea it was a man they sought.

            Harry pulled the heavy cloak closer around his body.  His ears were already freezing, the snow falling so heavily it looked like rain. 

            He stopped short of the carriage, when Francis turned around. 

            “You'll freeze in the street, please, come out of the snow and open your present.”

            Every instinct in Harry's mind was telling him not to follow the man.  He had not survived this long by blindly living in the west end of one of London's worst neighborhoods.  But he also knew the consequence of angering a client.  The Big Man must know they left the house, he would have heard the door.  Francis had always been polite enough and he was a privileged gentlemen besides.  Harry suddenly wondered if the man only wanted to change their environment, if he longed for some excitement out of the bedroom. 

            With that thought in mind, Harry quietly followed the older man up into the carriage, where it was still cold, but the bite of the wind was gone.  Francis sat back against the seat and motioned for Harry to do the same. 

            When Francis did not speak, Harry thought to fill the silence.  “I have never sat in a private carriage before.”  The scent of leather was overpowering.

            Only a hint of moonlight streaked through the drawn curtains.  Harry felt a gloved hand lift his chin.

            “You are so very beautiful, Harry.  There are little snowflakes in your eyelashes.”

            Harry realized the man must have wanted to bring in a little risk in his delights.  All that worry for nothing.  “That is very lovely of you to say.”

            “Come now, others must tell you so all the time.  You are prettier than the girls, you know?”

            “Thank you, Francis, you are too kind.”

            “It is the truth.  You have given me so much.”  It was then a tear fell down Francis Renard's cheek.

            Harry knew in that instant his instincts had been right.  Every fiber in his body told him to run, but when he leaned towards the door Francis grabbed him and pushed him back against the seat.  “God forgive me.”

            Harry saw the glint of metal and felt its bite before he could even protest.

 

 

 

 

 

            Though London was considered a constantly growing, changing city, many things about it remained the same.  It always rained more than the sun shined.  No matter what the city officials decided to irrigate the sewers, the pungent smell of urine was always in the air north of the Thames.  And the Royal Family was always being gossiped about, even when nothing interesting was happening.  Harry considered himself like the city.  Though many things about a person may change, some things were just always the same.  He had always enjoyed staying up late and sleeping in and tea without sugar.  He had always enjoyed reading, a true blessing for someone like him.  He always thought about how hard his father worked as a tutor for a bankers family, giving them his life, while only able to spend a a few hours a night with his son.  And he had always preferred the company of men.

            Harry Stiles's mother died a few days after he was born from a fever.  He had been her fifth pregnancy, and the only one that went full term.  His aunt moved in with his father after his mother's death, to take care of the child left behind.  His father never resented him, but cherished him because, his father always said, he was the spitting image of his mother.  Harry had been well cared for and received a higher education than any of the other children who lived in the same building.  He and his family lived modestly within two rooms in a neighborhood that was lower class, but without as much crime as other streets.

            Harry's father spent every available moment ensuring his son was as well-educated as the family he spent his days with.  Education and manners were very important to him, for he knew Harry was just as smart as the other children, if not more so.  He had so much promise, if not for a few flaws.  Harry spoke the first thing that came to his head, without thought of consequence.  This thing society had deemed as unacceptable were unbeknownst to Harry.  His father would try to lecture him on it, but in the end his father would be hiding his laughter.

            Shortly before Harry's eighth birthday his aunt grew sick.  It was already too late for his father when they realized she had consumption.  She died and shortly after so did his father.  Harry Stiles was alone, but his father's modest rooms were left to some far-removed uncle, whom was also left responsible for Harry's care.  Something his father had not been aware however, was the drinking problem his uncle had kept well hidden.  It was not hidden at all from Harry, who was left with nothing after his Uncle Bennet drank away his inheritance and lost his rooms to pay a gambling debt.  They lived on the streets until his uncle sold Harry to a man named Charlie Brocklesby who was in need of some boys to work in his kitchen.  Harry had nothing but the clothes on his back, and remembered watching his uncle smile as he accepted the three pence his nephew was worth.  Harry saw his Uncle Bennet only one time since being sold, when he chanced to notice a man's cold dead body laying upon the street in the middle of winter.

            Harry began working in the kitchen with four other boys close to his age, though he was the youngest at ten.  The other boys had been very interested in the things that went on in the rooms of Hartwick House, and though it would mean a terrible beating, it was worth catching a peak at any of the ladies.  Charlie thought Harry a well-behaved boy, being the only one not caught trying such a thing. 

            Harry Stiles was caught doing one thing however, when he was thirteen.  The boy had been older and it still made Harry laugh at how sloppy they had been.  The boy had not resisted, though he had not been as interested as Harry.  For that boy it had been a mere curiosity.  Charlie had been quite shocked that day he came upon them in a closet with a door that did not always lock properly.  They received their beatings and Charlie had chocked it up to boys being curious from all they saw in such a house.  It was only the second time that he found Harry, then fourteen, with another boy did he make the connection.  Something Harry would always appreciate was that he had never been forced to do anything.  Charlie had made the offer and Harry had accepted.  He knew what he was signing up for and never looked back.

            It was these odd bits of memories that were whirling through Harry's head as he faded in and out of conscience.  The untrained kiss with the first boy.  The disinterest he felt when the young girls of the house had tried the same thing.  His father reading to him.  His aunt always speaking kindly.  His uncle always cruel.  The hunger he had felt living on the street, the pain that would never wash away.  The family he made with the women at Hartwick House, they themselves just as used and lost as he.  He wondered how long it would be before Charlie knew he was missing.  Would the Big Man be punished for this?  He hoped so.

            Harry Stiles opened his heavy eyelids.  He could not tell if the black sky was blurry or if it was the falling snow.  For all the cold, he felt something warm and sticky pooling out of him.  He had never known blood to be so dark.

            His legs were tingling and he wasn't sure if he could move his toes.  When he managed to lift his head he stared down at himself in confusion.  He did not recall ever owning such a coat, until he remembered it was not his own.  He let his head fall back against the snow.  There was too much pain in his stomach, that much he knew.  Nothing else seemed to matter.  It was only then did he think of his Uncle Bennet in death, slouched against a wall, his eyes closed, his lips cracked and dry.  No one had even noticed the dead man, he was one of too many.  There were men whose job it was to clean up the dead in the streets, but they couldn't keep up with how many died.  Too many were starving, cold.  Harry imagined such a man chancing upon his frozen body. 

            It was then he decided he did not want to be found that way.  Somewhere he found the strength to sit up, though he cried out in pain as he did.  He placed his hand over the sticky warm spot on his stomach and felt the wound drip and ooze as he got to his feet.  Stumbling forward, he caused himself more pain as he fell against the low hanging limb of a tree. 

            Blinking, he realized there were trees everywhere.  Worry washed over him, thinking he had been put in a forest never to be found.  But then he noticed these trees were well maintained; he was in a park.

            He counted each step as he took it, wincing in pain and feeling more blood drip out of him as he did.  The snow was not falling so hard, but it was still difficult to walk in the inches that had collected on the ground.  The boots on his feet were thin and too old to be worn for walking in snow.  He almost laughed when he realized he had not even bothered to tie them.

            Harry wandered and wandered for what felt like hours.  He could not say if it had been that long, or only minutes.  There was a terrible throbbing in his head, and he was finding it harder to breath.  One more step, one more step.

            Finally his foot became too heavy to lift, and he tripped and fell to his knees.

            “You there!  Are you all right?”

            Harry wasn't sure if the voice was real or in his head.  He tried to answer, but found his throat dry.  He attempted to rise again, but this time he failed and fell back against the snow.

            A black sky loomed above him and snow flakes tickled his face.  His eyes were open long enough to see a figure step above him.  Whether it was his father, his uncle, or Francis coming back to finish him, he could not say.  He could not say anything as he allowed himself to fade away.

 

 

 

 

 

            It smelled of soap. 

            Not just soap, but also clean linens, freshly scrubbed floors, and a hint of lemon. 

            Charlie knew the importance of cleanliness, but there was only one bathtub and too many girls.  Harry was more particular about bathing and did so more often than the girls, but he never had much soap and always cold water.  He could not remember the last time he had smelled a room so clean.

            _Am I in Heaven?_ He opened his eyes. 

            Harry Stiles was certain he was in Heaven, for the room was blindingly white.  White curtains were opened to reveal a white world outside.  The walls were so white they must have been scrubbed every day.  The sheets were white and crisp.  It seemed a perfectly clean and pretty place.  It was then he noticed the only bit of color in the room was coming from a young man with brown hair seated in a white leather chair.

            The man leaned forward so intently Harry thought he might fall from his seat.  Was he an angel?  He did not think angels would wear a dark suite that fit so well it seemed to have been sewn around the body.  But he did not know much about angels, so he could not be sure.  The man's or angel's vest was cobalt blue, without a wrinkle in sight.  Harry noticed the middle seam was sewn above the coat pockets, the utmost fashion.  He deducted that angels would be quite fashionable.

            More prominent against this white room was the man's blue eyes.  They were lighter than the vest he wore, more like the color of a bright sky.  But they were the saddest eyes he had ever seen.

            “Good, you are awake.”  The man spoke very softly.  “Are you comfortable?  Is there anything you need?”

            It took a moment for Harry to hear the question.  He didn't know where he was.  The white sheets had been tucked tight around his body, and he realized his garments had been removed so he was naked under the sheet.  He looked up at the man in something of panic. 

            “Where...where am I?”

            The man stood.  He moved with a natural gentleness.  “You are in my physicians home.  And it is Christmas Eve.  Do you remember what happened?”

            Harry closed his eyes.  All at once it came back to him.  He wiggled his arms out from under the sheet and lifted it to see a clean white cloth pressed against his skin.

            “You lost a lot of blood.  My family's physician, Doctor Lucas, stitched you up.  I assure you he has an impeccable repute.  He stopped the bleeding successfully cleaned the wound, none of your organs damaged. And he gave you medicine for the pain.”  The man said every word without taking his eyes off Harry, his blue eyes clear and intense.

            How absurd this all was!  Harry couldn't help but laugh.

            The man looked at once concerned.  “My physician will want to know that you are awake, I had best alert him.  And there is a constable from the police, he who would-”

            Harry's heart stop and the smile faded from his lips.  “The police?”

            “Yes, of course.”

            “A constable is here?”

            “Why yes.  You were attacked and they need to find out by who.”

            Without saying a word, Harry pushed himself off the bed, careful to keep the sheets tied around his waist.  He had felt no pain while laying still, but once his bare feet hit the floor he winced from a jolt that shot through his side.

            “What are you doing?”

            Harry's eyes danced around the room in a desperate search for his clothes.  With a quick glance out of the window he could see they were on the main level, so if he could get out of the window he would never need speak to the police. 

            Before he could act on his decision, the door opened to reveal a small elderly man with long white whiskers, trailed by a broad shouldered man with dark eyes.  Even if the man had not been dressed in a pressed blue uniform and trench coat Harry would have known he was a policeman.  They came often enough to Hartwick House. 

            “What is this?”  The doctor chided.  “Dear boy, you must get back in bed.  Louis, I asked that I be called once he was awake.”

            “This is Doctor Lucas and Constable Stephens.”  The blue-eyed man, Louis he had been called, gestured to the new arrivals.  “I was just about to call you, when he all but leaped out of bed.”

            “I wonder what would make him do a thing like that,” the policeman said.

            The doctor shot Louis a worried glance, then looked back at Harry.  “You will tear open that wound if you move about like that.  Lay back down.”  Harry was trapped so he obliged without a word of objection.  The doctor eased him back against the pillows.  The doctor turned back to the gentleman.  “Louis, we should let the constable do his job.  Would you join me in the parlor room for some tea?”

            The man's lips were set firmly.  “No, I wish to stay.”  Harry could tell this was not a man to be argued with, whether he realized it or not.

            The doctor sighed.  To Harry he said, “Do call me if you need.  My assistant will be right outside.”  He pulled the heavy oak door closed behind him.

            Constable Stephens was clearly irritated that the young man had stayed behind, but he was doing his best to conceal it.  Harry wondered what he and the physician must have discussed while in the other room. 

            The constable pulled a notepad and sharpened pencil from his pocket.  “What is your name, boy?” 

            Harry knew better than to lie about little details, such as a name.  “Harry.”

            “What is your Christian name?”

            “Harold Stiles.”

            Louis slightly raised an eyebrow.  He could not have been much older than Harry.  “I do not know any Stiles's in this area.  Do you live on Union Street?”

            Stephens watched Harry doubtfully.

            “Union Street?  No.”  Harry tried to sort out his bearings.  Union Street was in Mayfair, one of the most notably wealthy neighborhoods in London.  Had Francis taken him so far west?  He could not imagine why.

            “What is your address?”  The constable was waiting, pencil stopped.

            Harry had to think quickly.  The policeman could tell he did not live in Mayfair, nor any other part of Grosvenor Square.  Harry could think of nothing other than Euston Road, which was long enough to cross between good and bad areas.

            “Euston Road.  The east side.  Eight twenty.”  Harry lied as the constable scribbled.

            “You must have been attacked by ruffians,” Louis said, sitting once again in the chair.  “If I had not chanced upon you, you might have died in the snow.”

            “Yes, a ruffian.”  Harry nodded.

             The policeman was too low of a station to make any unacceptable remarks to a gentleman, but Harry saw the annoyance flash across his face.  Harry could tell Stephens was a man used to working in this well-to-do area, where he could never forget his place.  Harry wondered if he did not feel more comfortable tending to the rougher areas, where he did not have to show anyone respect.

            “What were you doing in Hyde Park?”  The constable's dark eyes were studying Harry's, waiting for any hint of untruth in his response.  

            “I was t-taking a walk.”  Why would Francis take him to Hyde Park?  He would have done better to leave Harry right there in the alley, where no one would have cared to notice a dead body.

            “There are some interesting things I do not understand, Mr. Stiles.”  Stephens smiled smugly.  “Your boots, for one.  They were not tied.”

            “Perhaps the ruffian was trying taking them,” Harry replied easily.

            The young man took him at his word, but the policeman looked at him doubtfully.  “Those boots are worth nothing.”

            “To a madman in need of shoes they would be worth something,” Louis said to the policeman incredulously.  He was taking Harry at face value, hearing him speak was proof enough that he was educated.  The policeman however, was not so easily fooled.

            “Of course sir, you might very well be correct.”  Stephens turned to Harry.  “That was a fine coat you were wearing.  I wonder why he should be interested in old worn boots and not that valuable coat.”

            Oh Francis, you fool, you should have taken back your coat, he thought.  Harry smiled in spite of everything.

            “What is so funny?”  Stephens demanded.

            “It is odd, isn't it?”

            “I hardly find a stabbing 'humorous'.”  Stephens scratched his nose.  “You will have me believe someone approached you in the night as you walked alone in Hyde Park and that they attempted to steal your boots, but not your valuable coat.  You did not recognize this person?”

            “It was so dark, I did not see anything.”

            “Really, Mr. Stiles?”  The policeman asked, pronouncing his name carefully.  “Whoever decided to stab you also tried to staunch the bleeding.  Some torn material had been pressed against the wound.  We found it not a foot from where Mr. Tomlins discovered you.”

            Louis Tomlins was the gentleman's name, Harry noted, though he had more pressing matters he should be focusing on.  “All of this is just so very odd.”

            “Why would an attacker do that?”

            _Poor Francis_.  It offered Harry some comfort to know that the man had at least regretted his decision.  Harry only shrugged.  “You are asking me to explain the mind of some madman?  Is that not _your_ job, Constable...?”

            “Stephens.”  The man finished angrily.  He did not understand how Harry spoke so well, when he was undoubtedly from a different part of town.  He glanced at his notepad and back at Harry.  “Ah.  There is something the good doctor noted while he examined you.  When was your last meal?”

            Harry was almost relieved by the question.  Had the doctor done a complete inspection he might have uncovered something far more damning.  Still, Harry did not wish to answer. 

            “All of these questions are making me feel a bit woozy.  May I rest?”  Harry put a hand on his head.

            “Answer the question.”

            “What difference does that make?”  Louis Tomlins asked.

            “Doctor Lucas made an observation.  Boys who are simply thin are different from those who are starved.”  The constable looked down his nose at Harry.  “This boy is malnourished.”

            “Malnourished?”  Louis repeated as he stood, his sad eyes burning through Harry.

            Harry swallowed, averting his eyes in embarrassment.  Even a successful business had trouble feeding such a large staff.  There were twenty-five girls alone, and that did not include the others employed at the house.  Harry had starved during his time on the street, but still all he managed at Hartwick House was one meal a day.  Most of the time he allowed the younger workers to take his portion.

            “Yes.  Now, why would a boy who could not afford a decent meal come to have a coat like that?”  Constable Stephen's voice was growing louder as he made his conclusion.  “ _You_ are the ruffian!  You followed some innocent man, and when the opportunity arose, _you_ attacked.  Only you did not realize the man was armed and you were stabbed in the struggle.”

            Harry was more angered at the notion of being called a thief than he was at Francis for stabbing him.  “That is ridiculous!”

            “It is the only plausible explanation.  Tell me how you came by it then.  Answer me truthfully.”  The constable waited, pleased with himself. 

            Harry would never dare betray his occupation, least of all speak Francis Renard's name.  It would be deemed slander, and no one would ever believe it.  The damage would be irrevocable, and Harry would never work again, not in a comfortable house anyway.  He would let them take his tongue before he ever gave them Francis.

            “Listen, I was taking a walk and I was attacked.”  Harry could think of no other defense.

            “You are lying, Stiles.”  Constable Stephens scratched his square chin.  “I wonder what I would find under your name at the other stations.  None in Mayfair I believe, but what if I went east?  What would I find there?”

            _You would find that Harry Stiles lives in Hartwick House, a house of ill-repute_.  Charlie could pay a policemen in that area look the other way if the one who came calling was corruptible enough, but if a respectable station demanded answers for a case that involved gentlemen, they'd never pass muster as law-abiding citizens.  And what men came to Harry for at Hartwick House was against the law.  If it was said that one of Charlies workers had stolen a coat from a respectable man, enough people would know exactly what went on and much would be brought into the light.

            Harry needed the constable gone, and now.  “I do not feel so well.”  It was at least not a lie.  Whatever medication the doctor had given him was wearing off, and he was starting to feel a dull throb in his side, and he could not think properly.  He at least needed all of his wits to come up with decent lies. 

            “Do you think you will feel better at the station?”  The constable's threat was clear in his voice.

            “That is enough,” Louis said, taking a step forward.  He moved with such a natural elegance it was as if he were floating.  “Constable Stephens, are you charging this man?”

            The constable's confidence wavered before the gentleman.  “I...he stole-”

            “You have no proof.  And if the coat was stolen, whoever it belonged to would certainly report it, yes?”

            “Well, yes, but maybe they are afraid, fearing that they used force-”

            “Are you suggesting someone who would own this coat would be worried over defending themselves in light of being attacked?”  Louis' voice was soft, his words not loud in the least.  It was the calmest voice Harry might have ever heard.  “Maybe you should wait to see if it is reported before you accuse this poor man of stealing it.  He is, after all, the one who was stabbed.”

            The constable could not argue.  At least not now, in front of this man.  Stephens did give Harry a look to suggest that he would be tracked down as soon as someone reported the coat missing or the attack.  He might not even wait for that, he may just start asking around until he found out where Harry really lived.  However when Constable Stephens glanced at the young Louis Tomlins there was confusion on his face.  His superiors at the police station would rather not receive complaints by a well-bred man because one of their constables was bothering him about a coat.  Stephens clearly could not understand why such a man would even let himself be bothered by some lowborn who should be nothing to him in normal circumstances.   Harry couldn't help but wonder as well.

            “If that coat is reported stolen, I _will_ find you Harry Stiles.”  The constable promised.

            Harry knew in that he would at least be safe, for Francis would never report the coat missing.  The constable nodded towards Louis, knowing he had been dismissed.

            Once he was gone, Louis turned his bright blue eyes on Harry.  “You are in pain?  I will send for Doctor Lucas.”

            Harry nodded and watched the man walk out of the room.  He knew this was his chance.  He threw back the sheets and frantically searched the room.  His eyes finally landed on his worn out clothes folded neatly on a white dresser behind the bed.  As he pulled them over his head he both felt and heard the stitches in his wound rip.  Biting his tongue, he resisted the urge to cry out.  He pulled on his boots, still not bothering to tie them, and yanked open the window.  The air was drastically different from the wonderful warmth of the room, snow flakes blowing in and melting on the floor.

            Harry Stiles was out the window and far out of sight by the time young Louis Tomlins had returned.   

 

 

 

 

            “Please Harry, you must hold still!”

            Lucy was straddling him as if he were a horse, sitting on his legs to keep them from kicking.  He clutched a pillow and dug his nails in the palm of his hand as Lucy slid the needle through his skin.

            Harry cursed, feeling his eyes water. 

            Lucy's unkempt red hair had fallen around her face.  She held a sewing needle and thread used for mending garments, her brow creased with worry.  “It is worse if I have to keep stopping.  Please, dearest, try not to move and t'will be done soon!”

            He felt the prick in his skin, then the thread behind it.  At least he had been unconscious when the doctor had stitched him up last time, with proper tools.  Lucy said he was lucky they had enough rum to clean the old needle.

            The room started spinning, and Harry was certain he was going to pass out.  Instead he felt a blanket being pulled up to his chin.

            “It is finished.  It is not the best, but I tried to use the holes that were already there.”

            Harry clutched her hand in thanks, staring up at the rotted wood boards in the ceiling.  This room with yellow spotted walls and dust was such a stark contrast compared to the clean white room from which he had come.

            “Ah-hum.”

            Harry glanced uneasily at the man standing in the doorway.  “Oh.  Hello, Charlie.”

            Charlie Brocklesby was a short, middle aged man with dark hair peppered with gray.  No matter how often he shaved, he always had a gray shadow about his chin.  His eyes were small and dark, and no matter where in a room he might be looking, one could never tell if he was looking at them.

            “Clarence was out looking fer yer all night,” Charlie began sharply.

            “The Big Man could use some exercise.”

            “Damn you Harry, why did yer go out with that man?”

            Lucy gave Harry a quick look of sympathy and left them. 

            “I thought perhaps he wanted to get randy in his carriage.  Some like the element of getting caught.”

            “I thought yer had better sense than that.”

            Harry could feel every pulse throbbing in his wound.  “Are you truly going to lecture me this moment?  You do realize Lucy just mended me like a torn shirt?”

            After running down the street in only his undergarments through the snow, Harry was quite tired.  He dared not look over his shoulder while he ran, in case the constable should be close and decide to chase after him.  Harry ran until he felt his heart might burst.  His wound was bleeding and his face had gone numb.  He had no choice but to flag down a handsome cab and ask to be taken east.  The driver had given him a doubtful look, about to refuse him, when Harry promised him twice his normal wage. 

            Exhaustion and pain had caused Harry to fall asleep in the cab, and the driver shook him awake when they finally arrived.  The driver would not go past Platt, for he had ill feelings about the scum who lived on that street.  Harry had to walk around the corner and have one of the girls fetch Charlie, so the driver could be paid.  It all seemed to have happened so fast, he felt as though everything else had been a dream.

            “You know, I thought yer was dead!  I thought Clarence was going ter come back with yer body.”  For a small man, Charlie sat heavily into a wooden chair.

            Harry closed his eyes.  “But here I am, alive and well.”

            “Don't you get smart with me, Harry, I am so angry at yer I could spit.”

            Harry studied the man.  It had been seven years since they first met.  Being a ten year old boy who had just been living a few hellish years on the street, Charlie had been better than the queen of England.  Charlie was a strict boss, but never a cruel one.  He knew the importance of keeping his girls in line, and most of all, Harry.  Harry knew he had not always made life easy for Charlie, especially when he did not hold his tongue.

            “I am sorry.”  Harry sighed.  “I will use better judgment next time.”

            Charlie sighed.  “Yer lucky ta be alive.”

            “Luck did not have anything to do with it.” _It was a gentleman named Louis Tomlins, with sad eyes as blue as sapphires._  

            “Do yer think that git is gonna come back?  The one that stabbed yer?”

            “No.”  Harry was certain. 

            “S'ppose that's some good news.”

            “Ah, Charlie.  There is something else I should mention.”

            “Now wot?”

            “There was a constable.  The man thought I had been attacked, so he called them-”

            “Yer fooling me.  Harry, this is no time fer jokes.”

            “He has my name, but nothing else,” Harry said quickly as he saw Charlie's face drop.  “He might not do anything at all.  The gentleman stood up for me, you should have seen it.  I do not think the police will come here, but I thought I should warn you.”

            Charlie rubbed his eyes with balled up fists.  “Yer going ter be the death of me, Harry.”

           

           

 

            Christmas came and went as a rather a boring holiday.  Business picked up the day after Christmas, but not for Harry.  Charlie had decided Harry should not be working until he had fully recovered, so Harry found his days long and dull.

            Hartwick House had boasted a library once, but it had since been converted to a storage space for costumes, extra pillows, and other odds and ends.  Harry only owned a handful of books and he had read them all a dozen times already.  Practically dragging Lucy out of bed, he finally convinced her to brave the cold on New Years Eve so that he might pick up some books to read.  There were no bookstores in the area, so the closest one was a long walk away.

            The street was buzzing with voices, for people had already began to celebrate.  Even this poor, crime infested area had become lively for the holiday.  The snow was freshly fallen, making the area appear cleaner than usual.  Children were rushing down the street using old wood crates as sleds.  The cabs and handsomes had drivers shouting at one another, all trying to avoid the unusually busy foot traffic.  Men were stumbling about, cheering and raising bottles in their hand.  The pubs in the area were full to bursting, and it was still only three o'clock in the afternoon. 

            Lucy's red scarf was pulled up around her mouth to help block wind that howled down the streets.  Harry could smell bread baking and it made his stomach growl.

            “I am going to be exhausted tonight!”  Lucy yawned, pulling Harry closer to her.  “I was up at four this morning!”

            “You poor dear, not even the queen herself could keep up with you!”  Harry teased.

            Lucy gave him a playful pinch.  “You are dreadful!”  A group of children went rushing by, dividing up as they avoided people on the sidewalk.  “Charlie will keep you busy to make up for this, I'm sure.”

            “That I do not doubt.  I can tell he's still angry at paying double for the cab!”  Harry laughed, watching his breath mist before him. 

            “I'm shocked he paid you for Francis visit!” 

            “Well, Francis actually paid Charlie before he came to my room, though I have no idea why,” Harry said.  “Without that, I couldn't afford a book for the year!”

            “A waste of money if you ask me, but let us talk of more exciting things!”  Lucy linked her arm through his and started gossiping about a girl's fiasco from the previous night, not sparing one embarrassing detail about the customer. 

            They were in the bookstore for an hour, Harry having a hard time deciding which book to purchase.  There were several he wanted, and only when Lucy began begging him to go, he decided on _Frankenstein_ , by Mary Shelley.  He had read some of the author's mothers poetry and found it very enlightening, despite most critics views. 

            The sun was high in a cloudless sky as they made their way back to Hardwick House, Harry laughing as Lucy frighted at the plot of the story, when he felt a hand lightly touch his shoulder.

            At first he ignored it, thinking someone had accidentally brushed against him, until he heard a soft voice.

            “Harry Stiles.”

            He turned, Lucy still linked in his arms, and the exquisite Louis Tomlins stood before him.

            Harry felt his throat go dry and for an instant considered running.  Lucy would never be able to keep up though, and he could not leave her there.  He glanced around, expecting to see the constable looming behind.

            “Y-yes?”  Harry croaked.

            “Do you remember me?”

            Harry blinked.  “I...of course I remember you.”

            The man was somehow dressed even more immaculately than he had been the last time.  His gray frock coat was perfectly tailored with a shiny red satin vest underneath.  He had been wearing a black top hat, but he took it off as he looked at Lucy.

            “My lady.”

            Lucy could not hold back her giggle at his words.

            “This is Louis Tomlins.”  Standing side by side, Harry noticed he was slightly taller than the man.  “Mr. Tomlins, this is Miss Lucy Carroll.”

            Louis gave her an elegant bow.

            Harry glanced around, still waiting for the constable or some police to jump out and place him under arrest.

            But instead Louis gave them a warm smile.  “Did you have an enjoyable holiday?”

            Lucy smirked.  She was completely confused as to who this dashing, obviously moneyed man was.  All of Harry's clients were wealthy, but she had never seen one, let alone seen one address Harry in public.

            “It was....lovely.”  Lucy looked at Harry.  She noticed the worry on his face.

            “With everyone is such good spirits this time of year, I am always a little down when it draws to an end,” Louis continued with a smile, showing brilliantly white, straight teeth.

            “Is that so?”  Lucy asked politely. 

            Harry had no idea why he was going on so casually.  Everyone who passed gave them curious looks, as he clearly he did not belong here.

            “Yes, well, have a happy New Year.”  Harry made to turn when Louis put a hand on his arm.

            “Oh, but I was just realizing how hungry I was and I cannot seem to find a place to eat.”  Louis glanced around.  “Might you suggest somewhere?  Perhaps you both would care to join me?”

            Lucy's mouth dropped open in surprise.  She glanced at Harry, giving him her biggest smile.  “I am already late.  You go, dearest.  I know my way home.”

            Harry watched her abandon him.  More people on the streets were stopping to cast this unlikely pair curious glances.

            “Well, is there a place you would recommend?”  Louis asked as though he did not even notice.

            “No, not unless you want to eat rat.”  The words were out of Harry's mouth before he could stop them. 

            Louis laughed, and Harry noticed that when his eyes squeezed tight they crinkled in the corners.  “My carriage is just right there.  My driver can take us somewhere.”

            Harry felt his breath stop in his throat.  He had no desire to enter another carriage again.

            “I would rather walk,” he said quickly.

            “Are you sure?  You are fully recovered?”  Louis looked at him with, was it, genuine concern?  Harry could not tell if he was that practiced at being polite.

            “Of course.  I insist we walk.”

            Louis nodded.  “If that is your wish.  I will have my carriage follow us.”

            The walk was uncomfortable and awkward.  Harry felt compelled to walk ahead of Louis as if they were not together.  If Louis didn't know what he was, other people in this area did, and he did not feel it right to make them think that of Louis. 

            They had been walking for almost an hour, Harry's stitched side pounding, his heart beating uncomfortably fast, when he finally stopped.  He hadn't been paying attention, and had no idea where to suggest a suitable place to eat, not for a man like Louis.  “There is a small little tavern there,” he pointed.

            “That looks perfect.”

            Harry was already thinking of the walk back and how much that would hurt. 

            The tavern was packed with people enjoying an early meal before their New Years festivities, with about thirty people waiting outside.  The owner must have seen Louis right away, or at least noticed his dress and apparent station, and found a nice table by the fire place immediately.  After seeing the clean stone floor and elegant red wallpaper, Harry knew there was nothing in this place he could afford.  He had just spent all of his money on the book tucked inside his coat pocket.

            The server told them they were serving mincemeat pie, plum pudding, and cake for New Years.  

            “That sounds delicious,” Louis looked at Harry.  “Is that satisfactory to you?”

            Harry had only had stale bread and gravy the last few days and it sounded wonderful.  But he could not accept it.  “I do not want anything, thank you.”

            “Nonsense.  I cannot eat alone.”  Louis gave the man a nod.  “We will have two.”

            The server filled their glasses with cider and left them. 

            Harry lowered his gaze, feeling his cheeks warm with shame.  In a quiet he said, “I cannot afford to eat here.”

            “This was my offer, I do not expect you to pay.”

            “I do not need hand outs.”

            “I am not handing you anything.  I am paying the server.”

            Irritated, Harry sat back against his chair.  Avoiding Louis' eyes, he glanced about the tavern.  It had a grand window beside the fireplace that gave view to a nice little pond frozen over.  It was surrounded by thick tree trunks, and though there were no leaves, it was a pretty sight.  Harry was not familiar with this area, and was surprised to see such a nice little view in this part of the city.

            “Do you have any plans for New Years?”  Louis asked casually.

            Harry took a sip of his cider, and almost chocked on its flavor.  He couldn't remember the last time he had drunk something like this, perhaps when his father had been alive, but he was not sure even then.

            “Does this count?”

            Louis smiled.  “I meant this evening.”

            “No, I do not.”  Harry did not understand what this man wanted.  Was this all just a trap?  Was Harry supposed to feel at ease so as to make some confession?  He didn't know the point in that, but he did not feel like engaging in any meaningful conversation with him, nor revealing anything else that Louis may take back to the police.

            Louis did not seem to notice.  “Was that woman your sister?”

            The question caught Harry off guard and he laughed.  “Lucy?  No.  Though she is like a sister to me.”

            “Oh, I see.”

            Harry hoped the food would not take long to arrive.  He watched Louis from the corner of his eye, noticed his easy movements, his perfectly trimmed brown hair worn a little below the ears, and clean shaven face.  He was a different breed of human, not anyone who would speak to Harry unless asking him to clean the horse manure from his leather boots.

            “What are you doing here?”  Harry blurted out without thinking.

            “Pardon?”

            “What are we _doing_?”

            Louis folded his hands together.  “I thought we were dining together.”

            “You know what I mean.”  Harry looked at his blue eyes, something about them so pained.  “What do you want?”

            “Why do you think I want something?”

            “Because people like you don't belong on Charring Street.” 

            “Our last meeting ended rather abruptly.”

            Harry made a face.  “So?  I did not wish to stay in that house any longer.”

            “So you went out the window?”

            “Yes, so I went out the window!”

            “Were you not comfortable?”

            “What do you care?  I am nothing to you.”

            “Why would you say that?  If I did not care I would have left you bleeding in the park.”

            “Well...I...I suppose...thank you for helping me.” 

            “You’re welcome.”  Louis sat perfectly erect in his chair.  Harry put his shoulders down and tried to imitate him.  “You are a hard man to find, Harold Stiles.”

            “Perhaps I do not want to be found.”

            “Oh?  Well, I have your coat.”

            Harry guffawed.  “You came all this way to return the coat?”

            “I did not say that.”

            “Well, you wasted your time.  It isn't mine.”

            Louis raised an eyebrow.  “So it is stolen?”

            “I said I did not steal it!”  Harry said defensively.  He crossed his arms across his chest.

            “I did not mean to offend you,” Louis said softly.  “Please, accept my apology.”

            Harry did not say anything as the server arrived with metal plates set with a heaping portion of mincemeat pie.  It was warm and smelled like nothing Harry had ever eaten.  Without thinking he snatched up the fork and ate ravenously.

            Louis of course was the picture of etiquette, carefully cutting his own pie into little squares and taking small, proper bites.

            “Is it to your liking?”  Louis asked, a small smile on his face.

            Harry nodded as he devoured his food.  He did not even care how uncivilized he looked.  The food was so hot, and there were large chunks of beef, little pieces of oranges, raisins and apples.

            By the time his plate was cleared Harry felt as if he had died and gone to Heaven.  Louis delicately wiped his mouth with his napkin.

            The server cleared their plates and let them know cake and plum pudding would be served next.

            “Was your serving enough?”  Louis asked him.

            Harry saw the concern, or was that pity, in his blue eyes.  Harry loathed himself all the more as something dawned on him.  “Your doctor was mistaken.  I do not know why he told the constable I was malnourished.”

            “I did not mean to indicate that you were.”

            “Is that what this is all about?  I know you well-born gents like to do charity work, is that what I am, some pitiful creature to be discussed at parties?  I do not need any help, have gotten along this far on my own!”  Harry stood.

            “No, please, sit.  Why do I offend you so?”

            “Because there must be some reason you are here!  None of this makes sense.  I swear on my father's grave, I did not steal that coat and I do not need your charity!”

            Louis' blue eyes lowered.  “I was worried about you.  You cannot be more then, what, sixteen?”

            Harry sat up straighter.  He was a few inches taller than Louis and he wished to remind him.  “I am seventeen!  How old are you, no more of an adult then I, I'll bet!”

            “I am twenty, but it is different.”

            “True.  You were born with money and I will die without it.  Now, if you will please excuse me.”  Harry stood this time and took quick strides to be out of the tavern.  He dared not look back, he did not belong in that place eating that kind of food, no matter how much he enjoyed it.  He knew it wasn't fair, the rich could enter whatever world they wished, for money and power had made it so anything they wanted could be theirs.  Harry would rather not have that separation flaunted in front of his face.

            The sky was glowing orange as the sun lowered and the snow had begun to fall.  Even more people had gathered about the streets in preparation for the night's festivities.

            He was squeezing between the stream of people when he realized his book was no longer in his pocket.

            “Damnation!”  He quickly turned and began retracing his steps.  People brushed and bumped into each other without any regard, and he loathed thinking of the condition of his book, if he ever found it.  _That is, if I find it at all!_

            The gas lamps were being lit, but it offered little light along the dark, wet street.

            Finally a few feet ahead he noticed his book and almost yelled when he saw someone bend down to pick it up, until he realized it was Louis.

            He stomped over to him, pushing people out of his way, and snatched it from his hands.

            “That is _mine_!”

            “I know.”

            Harry stared at him.  “You know?  How do you know that is mine?”

            “I-” For once the perfectly put together gentleman was at a loss.  “I, I suppose I saw you buy it.”

            “You were following me!”

            A drunken man fell against Louis, who helped steady him on his feet.  “It is not like that,” he said, helping steer the man in a different direction.

            “Then tell me what it is like!”

            Louis pointed at the book.  “It is ruined.”

            “Blast.”  Harry wiped at the cover, but the pages were already soaked.  _What a night this is turning out to be._   He glanced at Louis.  “You have not answered my question.”

            Louis looked exasperated.  “Must we stand in the street and talk like this?”

            Harry shrugged.  “I am perfectly fine with it.”

            Louis glanced around until he noticed his carriage.  “Come, let us at least talk where we can hear each other properly.”

            Harry looked at the carriage wearily.  He supposed Louis would have hurt him if he meant to.  Of course, that could have been the ploy all along, to earn his trust.  Yet he followed Louis up into the carriage, wondering if he had lost all of his sense.

            The gentleman's carriage was even finer than Jame's.  The seats were green velvet, the curtains were an exotic mix of gold and forest green designs, the floors polished and shined.  He looked at Louis, who took off his top hat and sat it beside him on the seat.

            “I hate that I keep offending you.  I do not mean to.”

            Harry pulled his thin, well-worn coat tight around himself.  “You see, that is just it.  Why do you care if you offend _me_?  You shouldn't care a thing about what I think.”

            “Why do you think I am so arrogant?”

            “It is not arrogance, it is just the way things are.”  I am a prostitute, and you are a gentleman, Harry thought bitterly. 

            “Why does it have to be that way?”

            Harry looked at the book in his hand, flimsy and wet.  “I do not make the rules.”

            Louis took the book from Harry's hand.  “This is a great story.”

            “You have read _Frankenstein_?”

            “Yes.  I think you will enjoy it.  You may sympathize with the monster.”

            “Not the doctor?”

            “No, not the doctor.”

            The noise on the street was loud, with cheers and laughter, but within the carriage the two seemed to be lost in their own little world.

            “I did not mean to sound imposing, or that I had ill intentions today,” Louis said quietly.  “It is only...I just...on Christmas Eve, I was walking home from a party, a party thrown in my honor, even.  There was no reason for me to leave early, I did not even bother to feign an illness, I simply decided to leave.  When I did, I took the long way around, as if something unseen was pulling me through the park.  It was quite an odd notion, that I suddenly had the urge to do that, so late that night.”

            Harry watched him.  “And?”

            “And...I feel as though it was fate.  There was no other reason that I should leave that party early.  There was no reason at all that I should have walked through the park at such an hour.  Nothing adds up, except that I was meant to be there.  I was destined to find you.”

            Harry's brows were furrowed as he adamantly shook his head.  “Fate did not lead you to me.  I believe the word you are looking for is chance.  And chance can be most unfortunate, as now you have learned, for nothing else should have ever lead you to me.”  Harry pulled his coat sleeves over his hands.  The sun was completely down and it was growing colder.  He leaned towards the door.  “Thank you for dinner.”

            “Please, let my driver take you home.”

            “ _No!_ ”  He said in something of desperation, thinking he never wanted this man to learn where he lived.  “I mean...I just wish to be left alone.”

            Harry stepped out of the carriage and allowed himself to get lost in the crowd of people celebrating the beginning of a new year.

           

           

           

 

 

            With the holiday season over, the weather turned even colder.  December always felt cold, until January and February rolled along as if to prove it could be worse.  Everything was wet and gray and miserable.  The snow always stopped, but in its place came a steady sleet of rain, either mists or sheets.  It created icicles that prettily sparkled along lamp posts and window sills, but did nothing to detract from the constant chill that settled deep in the bones.

            Harry's wound had healed, and Lucy had pulled the stitches out.  The scar left behind was a slightly crooked line, slightly discolored.  He could see where Lucy's stitches had not been even on both sides.  Charlie kept Harry's schedule so full he did not leave Hartwick House for over a month.  He was sleeping through the day and staying up all night.  There were new customers, which meant Harry had to go through the early phase in which he was hated by these men, for more than one reason.  They hated him because he was the only one who could please them.  They hated him because they felt as if they had some terrible illness for which there was no cure.  But most of all they hated Harry, because he did not hate himself.

            The new customers were always tiring.  One of them cried for two hours, but could not make himself leave.  Harry did feel bad the man felt so low, but there were no words he could say to help him.

            Mostly Harry could not get his mind off Louis Tomlins, not matter how hard he tried.  Lucy had pried and begged for details after Harry had returned (so exhausted and cold he actually vomited the delicious meal he had eaten), but he did not reveal anything.  He said it had been a nice time, but would never see the man again. 

            He kept thinking about fate and how odd a thing it was for a gentleman to believe.  Of course even the Prince of Wales had his eccentricities, but Harry did not understand why this man would think such a thing for them.  Theirs was a chance meeting, nothing more.  For some reason Francis had felt the need to dispose of him in Hyde Park, and though he could have easily bled or froze to death, a man happened to pass by.  The park is not entirely desolate at night, a couple of scenarios could have led others to discover him.  There were park maintenance workers, watchmen, and perhaps a couple out for a romantic stroll.  It was not some aligning of the stars, as Louis seemed to think it were.  But even odder than that, what did he think should happen?  That they become friends?

            Harry was in a dreary mood one Thursday night as he sat before his fire, reading his soiled copy of Frankenstein for the second time.  Some pages were ruined and he had to skip sections, but he loved the story.  He was slightly irritated that Louis had been right that he should sympathize with the monster.  For him the story was more sad than scary. 

            This night Charlie had lined him up with two old customers and one new one.  A man could pay for the hour or buy the night, and his two returning customers had bought time slots.  Charlie was careful with the scheduling, so that no man would ever need wait, or be seen by a customer leaving.

             His first customer had arrived at seven, early as he always did.  The second came at nine, and left before the hour was through, as he always did.  Harry had no idea what to expect from the new customer who was scheduled for midnight, except that he was late.  Harry would make a note of it, perhaps it would be this man's routine.  Harry glanced up from his page and saw it was already almost one, and he wondered if he were going to come at all.  The room was comfortably warm, and Harry decided he would not mind retiring to his bed early tonight when he heard a knock on the door.

            It was so faint, Harry wasn't sure he had heard it at all.  Normally the men did not linger about in the hallway, they would just enter.  Harry called for him to come in.  When nothing happened, he stood, tied his blue robe, and opened the door.

            Of all things, he had not expected to see Louis Tomlins standing before him, wringing his hat between his hands.  His soft, brown hair was neatly combed and his crinkly blue eyes had never looked so wide.

            “W-what?”  Harry breathed.  He glanced around to see if this was some sort of joke.  Perhaps Louis had been doing his own detecting after all and had discovered what Harry was, and returned with the police.

            “You aren't expecting someone else?”  Louis asked, looking behind him.  “I assure you, I am the only one in the hall.”

            Harry was so angry to see him, his hands were shaking as he pulled him into his room and shut the door. 

            “What are _you_ doing here?”  Harry demanded.

            Louis looked about curiously, something that none of his other clients had ever done before.

            “What are you doing here?”  Harry repeated, loudly.

            “I wished to speak with you.”  He eyed Harry's robe.  “I can turn my back if you would be more comfortable dressed in something else.”

            Harry felt his face get hot.  “I am dressed as I like.  How dare you even suggest-”

            “Again I have offended you.” Louis interrupted.  He motioned to the chair Harry had been sitting in.  “May I?”

            Harry looked at him carefully.  “Do whatever you wish, it is your hour.”  Harry remained standing.

            Louis sat back into the chair, ignoring Harry's remark.  He motioned to a painting that hung beside the armoir. 

            “That is lovely.  Did you paint it?”

            “No.  One of the girls did.”

            “Your friend, Lucy?  The one who is like a sister to you?”

            Harry was surprised he even remembered her name.  “No, a different girl.  There are twenty-five girls here.”

            “And you are the only...man?”

            “The only man that does this...yes.”

            “I see.”  Louis looked at the fire.  “How I found you before...I had to track down the driver of the handsome you boarded.  It took awhile to find the right one, but once I did, I knew it was you.  He said he had taken a brown curly haired boy not dressed for the cold to Charrington Street.  He said he was begged, and offered twice his wage.”

            “Well, did he mention that he refused me at first?”

            “No, but I figured he had.”

            “Those type of drivers don't wish to be bothered with the likes of me, I suppose.  I probably dirtied up his precious cushion,” Harry said sarcastically.

            Louis ignored his tone.  “He did not drop you off at your house, as he knew the neighborhood's reputation.”

            “The corner of Platt is a dangerous one.”

            “But at least I could find the area.  My family wished me to return to the country for the new year, but I could not leave until I saw you.  They were expecting me this month, but still I have stayed behind in London.”  Louis' blue eyes glowed from the yellow of the fire.  “Upon returning to this area since our last visit, I was able to find where you lived rather quickly.”

            Harry feigned a smile.  “Surprise.”

            “I thought perhaps if I paid for some of your time, you would not be able to run away.  Else we could have met somewhere...different.”

            “Well, this is my home.  I hope you did not dirty your shoes by walking on these floors.”

            Louis noticed the overturned book laying against the armrest.  “You have not finished it?”

            “No, I did finish it, I am reading it again, and...”  Harry shook his head.  “And that it is not any of your business!”

            A faint smile touched Louis' lips. “You like it then?”  He turned some of the pages, noting the ruined ones.  Louis sat the book down and reached inside his coat pocket, pulling out and presenting a new copy of the book.

            Harry went to retrieve it, but did not want him to think he wanted it.  “I am not allowed to accept gifts,” he said instead.

            Louis frowned.  “Not even a book?”

            “Nothing.  No gifts, no matter what they are.”

            “Well, it is not a gift then.  It is a loan.  I am loaning you the book.”

            Harry approached Louis and took the book from his hands.  The cover was hard and well-bound, and it smelled of fresh ink.  He put it on his shelf.  “Thank you.”

            “I know you did not want to see me again-”  Louis started.

            “Yet here you are.”  Harry did not understand him.  He didn't understand why this man should be so persistent, why he was always so...kind.  Did he not yet realize what Harry was?

            “I am sorry to surprise you like this.  I did not think you would meet me any other way.”

            “You would be correct.”  Harry wasn't sure why the man searched for him and why he would go to such trouble.  There were too many unanswered questions so Harry drew his own conclusion.  The man must certainly feel pity for him and had taken it upon himself to help him.  That notion was more than Harry could stand and in an instant he only wanted to make him leave.  He decided the best way would be to embarrass the man.  Harry sat on the edge of his bed.  “Since you are here, you might as well get your money's worth.”

            “I did not...that was not why....”

            “Well, you asked for me, didn't you?”  Harry leaned back on his elbows, pushing a curl out of his eyes.  “You found out who I am, what I do.  You have paid for my services, so why don't we get started.” 

            Louis sat frozen.

            “Oh, I understand, you are one of those customers who likes to take it _slow_.”  Harry patted the space next to him.  “Hop up here and I promise to be slow and gentle.  Unless you are one of those customers who only _pretends_ that is what he wants.  If you desire fast and painful, I can do that to.”

            Louis stared at him in disbelief.

            Harry shrugged.  “Or you can stop wasting my time and yours!  There are twenty-five girls out there, whom may be more suited for you.  If you like them young, there are a few choice girls I can recommend.  I'm afraid we do not have any virgins, but there are girls who are well-practiced at innocence.”

            Louis finally spoke, ever so softly.  “You are being quite crass.”

            “What did you expect from a prostitute?”  Harry demanded.  “Men _use_ me.  And not only that, I do not mind.  In fact, I enjoy it!  That is what your precious fate has led you to.  So while you were thinking we could take tea together and discuss the weather, I would be returning home to a whore house and you to your estate.  You do not want to know me, you were just bored enough to wish you did.  Now, if you still desire to continue this farce I can play the part of the poor boy in need of saving, if that is what will get you off?”  Harry untied his robe.

             Louis stood, looking more uncomfortable than Harry had ever seen him.  He walked quickly to the door, eyes down.

            He turned the handle but stopped.  “I _knew_ what you were Harry Stiles, before I ever discovered you live in Hartwick House and what you do for a living.”  He left then, closing the door softly behind him.

 

 

 

 

 

            Harry pulled awkwardly at the scarf he had tied around his neck.  The men who passed him gave him inquisitive, troubled looks.  He knew again he could not linger long, else a policeman would certainly approach him.

            He decided to take the scarf off, and carried it draped over his arms as he started walking.  There was no purpose to it, he hoped he would be noticed less if he walked with the crowd.  The ladies carried silk umbrella's, each its own marvelous color.  The sun was out, with only a slight chill in the air.  For once the streets were dry, as was common in April.  Easter had been the previous Sunday, and he could already see the changing fashion in their dress.  The over skirts looked fuller and adorned with more frills than the previous season.  A lot of the younger girls wore yellow bonnets and black pointed shoes. 

            Compared to those around him, he was dressed in rags.  That morning he attempted to make himself most presentable by taming his shoulder-length, unruly curls, but had failed.  

            Harry did a quick turn, and started following the traffic back the other direction.  A girl met his eyes and batted her eyelashes at him, clearly too young to realize he did not belong here.  Upper George Street was home to some of the most wealthy, powerful families this side of London, Harry had been dismayed to learn.  He had become more familiar with Mayfair than he had ever hoped to be, and had already hidden from policemen twice.

            Harry had arrived at nine o'clock this morning, and had not left this street since.  Today he would be walking the five or six miles of fashionable shops, in case this should be the right place.

            It was midday, and he was looking forward to remaining longer if he could, for tonight was his first night off in weeks, and he would finally have some extra time.  He had been getting to Grosvenor Square early in the morning, but leaving in the afternoon to make it back to his room in time.  He was spending all his money on cabs and handsomes, for the distance was much too far to walk.  He had tried the first couple of days, and found that even when he left Charrington Road as soon as the sun rose, he would arrive just in time to turn around again.

            He continued this routine until his legs felt weak.  There was a bench between two shops on the side of the road opposite a line of fine houses, and he decided to take a quick break.  He had not been eating and his stomach ached when he smelled the food from a sandwich cart.  He already did not have enough money to take a cab all the way home, only enough to take him half way.  He watched longingly as the cast rolled by.

            “Harry?”

            Harry squinted in disbelief at the man standing before him, before standing so fast, the blood rushed to his head. 

            “Harry, are you all right?”  Louis' hair looked a little longer, the new fashion, and his eyes stood out brilliantly against the blue in his clothes.  His coat matched his waistcoat and trousers, his white collared shirt brilliantly pressed.

            Harry nodded, then shook his head.  “Of course.  I am just surprised, to, ah, see you.”  _As if I have not been spending every available moment looking for you._

            Louis' lips were pursed.  “What brings you here?”

            Harry had thought only of this moment since the night Louis had left him.  Now that it was here, his mind was blank.  He finally remembered the book under his arm, the perfectly plausible excuse he had concocted when he could think clearly.

            “I needed to return this.”

            Louis regarded the book.  “You did not have to do that.”

            “Remember, it was a loan.”

            “No, Harry.  Keep it.”

            Why did the way Louis say his name unnerve him so?  It had never sounded so proper or elegant as it did coming from that man's mouth.  Harry felt his heart drop with the silence becoming more awkward.  “Well then.  I should be on my way.”  He gave a slight nod, and turned away from Louis as quick as he could.  He had no idea what he was doing, he had spent the last few months searching out this man.  Now that he had finally chanced upon him, he was leaving him.

            _No, you idiot, what if you cannot find him again?_   Harry turned around and saw that Louis was standing still, watching him.

            Harry turned on his heels and went back to him.  “I wasn't just looking for you to return the book,” he said lamely.

            A group of women passed, each giving Harry and Louis curious glances.

            “Um, is there somewhere private we could talk?”  Harry tucked a curl behind his ear.

            Louis pulled out his pocket watch.  “I have an appointment.”

            Harry had never felt so foolish.  “Of course you do.  I...I shouldn't have bother you.”

            “However, I am thirsty.  I could use a cup of tea.”

            “We could go somewhere further away.”  Harry averted his eyes.  “You shouldn't be seen with me in public.  Can we go somewhere discrete?”

            “There is a little place that is just around the corner.”

            Harry fell in step behind Louis.  It was a quick walk to the tea house, which was a small, quaint place, with only three other customers inside.

            They were seated immediately at a freshly scrubbed round table with high backed wooden chairs.  Louis looked the picture of elegance sitting just so, while Harry looked wrinkled in his well-worn clothes. 

            “Two cups of tea.”  A man announced once they had sat, two tea cups in his hands.  He only gave Harry the slightest of looks, so trained he was at pretending he didn't see certain things.  “Might I offer you any other refreshments?”

            “No.”  Harry knew he would not be able to pay for his cab home once he paid for the tea.

            “Ah, yes, actually, we will have some cucumber sandwiches.  And tomato and dill.  I shall take the tab.  Thank you.”  Louis instructed and the man left and returned just as quickly with a plate of sandwiches.  They smelled so good, Harry's stomach growled.

            “Have some.”  Louis pushed the plate towards Harry.  Harry had to resist shoving them into his mouth in one bite, in this quiet, little civilized place.  He ate three sandwiches as slowly as he could manage.

            Louis took a sip of his tea, pretending not to notice.

            “Did you have a nice Easter?”  Harry could think of nothing else to say and then chided himself for speaking at all with food in his mouth.

            “Yes.”

            Harry looked at the other men in the tea house, them sitting with their backs straight and their heads high as if they were the most important men in the world.  Perhaps they were.  His eyes went back to Louis.  “I am sorry.”

            Louis raised an eyebrow.  “For what?”

            Harry sank lower in his chair.  “For being so rude.”

            “You were speaking your mind.  You should not apologize for that.”

            “Of course I should!  I am not usually so awful.”

            “I must provoke something in you to be that way.  Something about me seems to have that effect on you.”

            “No, please.  Just let me apologize.”  All at once Harry felt ill.  It might have been his nerves at finding Louis, as he had been restless since their parting.  The food was churning in his stomach.

            “Harry, you look unwell.”  Louis leaned forward.

            Harry shook his head.  “I feel all right.”  He couldn't remember the last time he had actually eaten, and now he regretted having the tuna.  Without warning, he stood as fast as he could and covered his mouth as he rushed for the door.

            He managed to make it down the alley between the tea house and a brick building.  The sandwiches came up as fast as they went down, Harry bent with his hands on his knees.

            “Harry!”  Louis was behind him, his brow creased.  “You are sick?”

            Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to compose himself.  “No, I haven't ea-...it does not matter.  This is not going very well, not very well at all.  I hope I have not made you late to your appointment.”

            “I lied about having an appointment.”

            “You did?”

            “You said some hurtful things,” Louis said softly. 

            Harry stared at his feet.  “I know.  I have heard them over and over in my head a million times.  I was awful.  Worse than awful.”

            “You still look pale.  Maybe you should sit down.  Did you want to go back inside?”

            “No, no.  I’d rather not make a fool of myself twice in one tea house.”  His eyes locked on Louis'.  “I truly am sorry.”

            “I know.”

            Harry pushed the hair out of his eyes.  “When you said...when you said you knew what I was...”

            “Yes?”

            “You knew...?”

            “I knew.”

            “Yet you still sought me?”

            “I still sought you.”

            “ _Why?_ ”

            “Why, you ask?”  Louis smiled suddenly, his face lighting up.  “Because I needed to know the one with the green eyes.  I needed to know the one with dimples that appear at the slightest smile.  I needed to know the one so full of fire, even if I’m the one likely to suffer the burn.”

            Harry felt himself blushing, studying this man with who spoke of fire with as much passion as anyone.  Harry needed to know this was real.  “You aren't...are you...you truly mean that, you're not just having a laugh, now that you know what I am?”

            Louis' expression did not change.  “I truly mean it, Harry Stiles.”

            Harry tried to bite back his smile, his heart racing.  _Such an odd conversation to be had in an alley._   He openly gawked at the gentleman before him, with his perfectly combed hair, clean-shaven face, and striking cheekbones, all the more pronounced as Louis clenched his jaw, watching him, waited for him to say something.  “Well.  Now that you have properly embarrassed me...what do we do?”

            Without hesitation, Louis asked, “Are you free this afternoon?  I mean, ah, do you have to work tonight?”  
            “No.”

            “Good.  What would you like to do?  Whatever you should wish.”

            Harry shrugged.  “I do not know.”  He looked into Louis' eyes and feared what repercussions there would be if they were seen together.  “But I don't want to stay in this area.”

            “All right.  I will have my driver take us to the east side.”

            Harry followed.

 

 

 

 

            The air was dry with a considerable breeze, but the sky was blue and clear, without a hint of rain.  Even if the sky had opened up and flooded all of London, it would still be the best day Harry could remember.

            They had happened upon an art festival in St. James Gardens, the walkways lined up with more than a hundred different works of art.  For two hours, Harry and Louis had admired the different pieces, noting what they liked and disliked about them.  Louis seemed to prefer the simple, clean lines in paintings of nature, while Harry liked the more intimate portraits that seemed to reveal everything, as though the artist had made some intrusion to a private moment no one was supposed to see.

             “Truly, Harry?  This one is your favorite?  The artist has used such dark colors I feel like I am looking into a room lit with only one candle!”  Louis squinted at the painting.

            “No, you see, that is the intention!  The woman has her back turned, as though she is not even aware of the painters eyes.”

            “Her dress is slipping of.”

            “But it is not indecent!”  Harry insisted.

            “No?”

            “Perhaps not.  Look, see, there is a reflection in her mirror.  She is round with child, that explains the basin of water.  She is about to give birth.”  
            Louis laughed in spite of himself.  “Oh, I see.  It is rather misleading, isn't it.”

            “It is.”

            Louis cleared his throat as they continued on to the next piece.  “Have you studied much of the arts?”

            Harry tried not to laugh.  “Me?  No.”

            “Yet you look at paintings with a knowing eye.”

            “My father was a tutor.”

            “Oh.  He taught you.”  It was a statement, not a question.

            “Yes.  I was young when he died.  My mother died after I was born, I never knew her.”  Harry did not stop at a dull piece, a simple blue vase filled with daises.  Louis took a moment to look at it, then followed.

            “How sad, to never know your mother.  How old were you?”

            “Seven.  My uncle came to live in my father's house, to take care of me.  As you can guess, that did not go so well.”

            “What did he do?”

            “Drank away everything my father worked for.  Lost the rooms my father had secured.  It wasn't long before we were living on the street.”

            “My God, that is terrible.”

            “Not such a unique story.  There are thousands just like me.  I am lucky I did not die there.”

            “It does not diminish what happened.”  Louis was thinking.  “Is that how you...you are where you are?”

            “That is how I came to work at Hartwick House.  Charlie bought me from my uncle.  And put me to work.”

            Louis' eyes opened in horror and Harry continued quickly.

            “As help in the kitchen!  Not...you know.  It wasn't until I was fourteen that I started...that work.”

            Louis shook his head in disbelief.  “Fourteen?  You were a child.”

            “No, I wasn't.  I don't think anyone who has lived on the streets maintains their innocence.”

            “I don't believe that.  No matter what, you were a child.  Charlie made you a...and you were just a boy.”

            Harry stopped.  “Maybe I am not explaining myself.  Charlie didn't _make_ me do anything.  I had the opportunity of a lifetime.  He offered me my own wage, a lot more than I would have been making as kitchen help.  I have my own bed, my own room!  Until then I had been sleeping on the floor with six other people.  It was one of the greatest things that could happen to me.”

            Louis looked at him, but did not seem to agree.  “My physician said you are malnourished.  If this Charlie takes such good care of you, why does he let you starve?”

            Harry pulled his coat tighter around his frail body defensively.  Louis was slender himself, yet he had full cheeks and Harry thought he noticed some curves under his coat.  “Even making good money it is not always easy to come by food.  There are so many of us, ones younger than I.  There is never enough to go around.”

            Louis was about to respond, when Harry interrupted.  “Enough about that.  Tell me, Mr. Tomlins, what do you do?  Do you even have a job?”

            A few women passed them by, Louis offering them a polite bow.  One giggled in excitement. 

            “I am a member of several boards, but to say I have a job...no.”

            Harry had figured as much.  “What does your family do?”

            “The Tomlinss are descendants of a British Sovereign.”  Harry knew that meant they also did not work and came from old money.  “My great great grandfather, Henry, was admiral of the royal fleet.”

            Harry knew that was the highest achievable rank in the navy.   “Truly?”

            “Yes.”

            Harry waited for him to continue, but instead Louis looked closer at a painting of an apple tree.  “Is that all?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Are you trying not to rub your good fortune in my face?”  Harry smiled.  “You should not be ashamed of it.  I wouldn't be.”

            Louis glanced at the next piece, without really looking at it.  “I hardly think it is appropriate for me to go on about the extravagances of my life, to someone who has had such hardships.”

            “ _Hardships_?”  Harry repeated.  “You feel sorry for me?”

            “Harry, terrible things happened to you, I hardly-”

            “I told you, I consider myself fortunate to be alive.  If I had not come to work at Hartwick House, I would not have lived much longer.  I would have either frozen or starved to death, whichever one should happen first.”

            “You are still not safe,” Louis said seriously.  “You were stabbed.”

            Harry flushed.  “I can take care of myself.”

            “I see.”  Louis clasped his hands together as he walked.  “What happened that night?”

            “Can't you guess?”  Harry asked bitterly.  “A customer feared he might be found out.  I'm not sure if he had made a confession, because he mentioned a priest, or if one had made some discovery.  He won't be troubling me again.”

            “You must tell the police!”

            “Are you mad?  I could never make such a claim.  I would be thrown into jail!”

            “For what?”

            “Slander, blackmail, harassment, I am sure there would be no shortage of charges.  The police don't exactly have a high regard for those like me.”

            “How will you know until you tell them?”

            “I have not lived this long by being a snitch.”

            “That does not seem fair.”

            Harry laughed, and patted Louis on the arm.  “What has fair got to do with anything?”

            Louis did not reply, but fell quiet as they came upon the last painting.

            “A fallen woman?”  Harry turned his head.  The painting was of an aged man and elderly woman physically pushing their sobbing daughter out of the door, a babe in her arms.  A man stood in the shadows, a sly smile on his face.

            A portly man was also inspecting the painting, but upon seeing Harry he turned and inspected him. 

            “I don't know why someone would paint such a thing,” he said, his voice civilized and cool.

            “Perhaps they wanted to show something that people wouldn't normally see,” Harry replied.

            “I do hate tragedies.  That poor family.  Such a thing for a father to go through.”

            “The father?”  Harry asked.  “The woman is being cast out.”

            “For good reason!  She committed sin, clearly.”

            “So she deserves, what, to be exiled?  Sent out of her home?”

            “But of course, my boy!”  The man's nostrils flared as he spoke.  “Without the fear of judgment, God only knows what people will do.  That is why the civilized can compose themselves.  The people in this picture are clearly lower class.  The girl has no fear of society's rules, no consequences, a terrible thing that is happening to this world.” 

            Harry felt his heart pounding.  “High society is without flaws?  They are without sin?”

            “Well no civilized person would conduct themselves thus.  Civilized people know better, that's what makes them civilized.  Are you saying you do not agree?”

            “Sir, I do not know whether you are ignorant or blind, but no one is without flaws!  I am certain you are no exception!” 

            The man blubbered.  “Why, I never!  Do not raise your voice to me.”

            “How can you believe such a thing?  This painting isn't meant to be an exercise in caution, it is to show the coldness and contradicting views of _society_.”

            The man was about to respond when Louis pulled Harry away.  The man watched them go, his face beat red, mumbling after them.

            Once outside of the park, Harry shook himself free of Louis' grasp.  “That man was such an utter fool, I bet he could tell me with a straight face that the prince of England is without flaws!”  He stomped towards the parked carriage.  He stopped when he Louis did not answer.

            “Louis?”  Harry bit his lip.  “I did not intend to embarrass you.”  Harry could still see the man's face, his condemning eyes.  “Well, I may be sorry for embarrassing you, but I am _not_ sorry for saying what I did.  That man was an ass, I hope he has no children who must suffer such ignorance.”

            Louis tilted his head, a smile forming on his face.  “Harry, you are like no one I have ever met.  And I agree with you.  I am glad you said something.”

            “I hope you do not know him.  Or that he knows your family.”  Harry knew how judgmental and hypocritical the world of the wealthy and powerful could be, even though he did not live in it.  They could cast out anyone who might misspeak, or commit some act based on love and compassion, if it did not fall within the rules that had been set forth.  In its own way it was more unforgiving than life on the streets.  In high society, no one ever seemed to forget a person’s mistakes.  If they did, Harry would not have so many customers that came to him with so much fear and disgust.  How so many of them regarded Harry as if he were a rat, and how they loathed a rat that could see them for what they truly were.

            “No, no,” Louis was saying.  “I have never seen him before in my life.”

            Harry noticed that evening was slowly coming upon them.  “I should probably get back.  I have already taken up much of your time.”

            “You are not taking up any of my time.  In fact, I cannot think of another way I would have wanted to spend this day.”

            Harry smiled, thinking he felt exactly the same way.

 

 

 

 

           

            Over the next several weeks Harry Stiles spent every moment he was not required to work with Louis Tomlins.  Harry had always preferred sleeping until noon, but he woke with excitement on the mornings he had plans with Louis.  He rarely had a night off, so he was grateful that Louis could meet him in the mornings.  The only day that Louis was unavailable was Tuesdays, which was the day he went to his gentleman's club, something he had been doing since he was seventeen.  Harry raised no complaint, because Louis was the one who had to travel across town to see Harry.  They met in parks, tea houses, gardens, the river; anywhere that afforded them some privacy or was busy enough to get lost in.

            When Harry got his first night off in weeks, Louis had insisted on taking him to dinner.  Louis was transparent in insisting most of their outings include a meal.  Even if Louis would never admit it, Harry knew he worried about how often he ate. 

            This night they dined on turkey and jelly, Harry savoring every bite.  The dishes had been cleared away, and they had been talking for the last two hours over tea.

            The time had suddenly dawned on him.  “Louis, does your family wonder where you have been going lately?”

            Louis took a sip of his tea.  “I am involved with different boards and clubs.  They are assuming that I am out because of those obligations.”

            “They don't ask you what you are doing?”

            “Oh, they politely ask.  And politely listen.  By which I mean, they nod and smile without hearing a thing.  Attending those things are so dull in itself, actually hearing all the details is practically torture.”

            Harry laughed.  “What about your sisters?  Surely they wonder about their big brother?”

            “The eldest may think about it, but her own schedule is filled.  She is only a year older than you, so she has her head full of potential suitors while obsessing over the new fashions that will be worn this season.”

            “That sounds more dreadful than your boards.”

            Louis smiled, showing his perfectly straight teeth.  “Either way, no one has time to wonder what I am doing.”

            “So...if you were not to return home until late, would they notice then?”

            Louis' hand gave the slightest shake, then steadied again.  “Why would I be doing that?”

            “Because you can come back to my room.”  
            “I can?”

            “If you want.”

            “Am I...allowed?”

            Harry frowned.  “Allowed?”

            “It is your day off.  I have not...paid.  Are you allowed to have guests?”

            Harry put his cup down, his brow furrowed.  “It's never come up.  I suppose so, it's my own time.”

            “You've never had any friends visit?”

            “I live with the girls.  It's not as though I've ever had anyone else.”

            Louis' eyes lowered, as he resolved some turmoil he would not share.

            “So, will you come?”

            Louis nodded slowly, as though a hundred different thoughts were going through his mind.

            They collected their coats and Louis' driver took them to Hartwick House.  Harry knew Louis trusted the man above all else.  The driver knew he would live out a comfortable life if he kept his master happy.  He dropped off Harry and Louis and continued around the corner.

            It was a little after midnight, the house dark and quiet except for a few moans and squeals heard from the other rooms.  Harry went through the back door, his footsteps muffled on the worn carpets that led to his door.  The Big Man would be lurking in the front of the house, where the girls would be busy with their customers.

            Louis took off his coat, while Harry went to the fireplace to get it started, to help take the chill out of the room.  After the fire was going, Harry lit the oil lamp.  As he lowered his matchstick, he looked at Louis.

            “Is the light all right?”

            Louis looked at him quizzically.  “The light?”

            “Yes.  Some prefer darkness.”

            “Oh.  It is fine.”

            Harry pulled his sheets down and gathered some extra pillows from behind his bed, arranging them just so. 

            “I have an extra blanket, if you like.”

            Louis sat down awkwardly in the chair.  “Don't.”

            “You don't want a blanket?”

            “No.  I don't want it like this.”

            Harry stopped.  “What do you mean?”

            “You are treating me like...like your customer.”

            Harry shrugged out of his own coat.  “I just want you to be comfortable.”

            “I don't want to be treated like that.”

            “How do you want me to treat you?”

            “Be yourself.”

            “All right.”  Harry kicked off his boots, and undid the button on his trousers.  He slid off his worn shirt and tossed it aside as he approached Louis.  As soon as he put his hand on him, Louis pushed it away.

            “Wait.”

            Instinctively, Harry pulled back.  “What did I do?”

            “I'm sorry, I don't want to do this-”

            “What?  You could have just told me you didn't want to.”  Harry stood at once to retrieve his shirt, sliding it on in irritation.

            “You didn't let me finish.”

            Harry buttoned his trousers, looking into Louis' eyes.  They seemed so far away, so sad.

            “Well?”

            “I just don't want to right now.  Do you understand?”

            “How can I understand if I don't know what you are talking about?”

            Louis suddenly seemed younger than his twenty years.  “You see, I have never, you know.  Before...I mean.”

            Harry was utterly confused, until the words dawned on him.  “Never!”

            “Must you shout it?”

            Harry laughed, covering his mouth.  “I'm sorry.  I'm not laughing at you.  I just assumed you had.”

            “Why would you assume that?  I am a gentleman.”

            “Who do you think my customers are?  Shoe shiners?”  Harry knelt before Louis and leaned his elbows against the other man's knees.  “You needn't be embarrassed.”

            Louis looked away, the subject clearly making him uncomfortable.  “I just...it's not just _this_ , you know.  I have never had relations with anyone.  Not a woman either.”

            “You have never bedded a woman?”

            “That is what I just said!”  Louis crossed his legs, causing Harry to fall back on his haunches.  “I told you, I'm a gentleman.”

            “What if you prefer a woman?  How would you even know?”

            “Did you need to do that before you knew?” 

            “No, I didn't.  But at least I can be certain.”

            Louis looked at Harry as though he had just spoke in Latin.  “ _You_ have been with a woman?”

            “Of course!”

            “Well, what if this woman was not doing it right?”

            “Ha!  Of course she was doing it right.  She worked here, she knew all the tricks.  It was awful though, truly.  It wasn't only the one time, either.  There were a few girls who thought they could change my mind.”  He moved to the edge of his bed, doing his best to stifle his laughter.  “Obviously, they didn't.”

            Louis kept his eyes on the floor.  “I am surprised you thought I had experience in this field.”

            “There are lots of wealthy men who bring their sons here, thought it might be the same for you.”  Harry stared at the fire.  “They bring them here to make them a man, so to speak.  They do it so they will know what to do with their wives, but why would it matter if they knew what to do?”

            “That is dreadful.”

            “The sons don't seem to mind.”  Harry leaned back against the pillow and gazed up at the dirty ceiling.  It occurred to him how strange it was, here in this place where he did what he did.  Everything was so old and worn, everything except the immaculate man seated so elegantly in the chair.  He sat up suddenly.  “You don't belong here, Louis.”

            Louis finally looked at him.  “Pardon?”

            “You are better than this place.  This place is filthy.  This neighborhood is filthy.  You deserve better than this.  My room.  Me.”

            “I don't want anything else.  I want to be here.  I've never wanted to be in a place more than in this moment.”  Louis said softly.  Something in his tone offered Harry comfort.

            “Oh.”

            Louis stood up and approached the bed.  He slid into the bed next to Harry, though he kept his back straight and eyes on the ceiling.  “Can I sleep here, for a few hours?”

            Harry looked at him.  “Here?  Are you sure?  Your own bed and room is much more comfortable, I am certain.”

            “But _you_ are not there.”

            Harry turned on his side and studied Louis' face, so serious.  His features were fine, his crinkly eyes so blue, his hair soft.  He had a good, strong nose, not too big or too small.  There was not a scar or blemish at all on his perfect complexion.  Harry felt himself getting pulled into those eyes.

            “Are you sure you only want to sleep?”  Harry asked slyly.

            Louis smiled.  “Yes, I am sure.”

            “If that is your wish.”  Harry edged closer, feeling the warmth of Louis' body.  The fire was crackling, and he was listening to Louis' steady breathing, as he fell into one of the best dreams of his life.

 

 

 

 

 

            The sun was rising, mixing an outline of blue and orange around the edges of the rug being used as a curtain.  He was glad it was such a thick fabric so it blocked out most of the sun when he wished to sleep the day away.

            But there was something different about this morning.  He opened his eyes slowly, and it took a moment for him to see clearly.  He had expected to be alone.

            “Louis?”  He blinked.

            “Good morning, love.”

            “I thought you were only going to stay a few hours.”

            “I was...but I changed my mind.”

            Harry rubbed his eyes and yawned.  “Won't your family get worried?”

            “I sent Marcus back.  He was to leave again, before the sun came up.  They will only know my carriage arrived and left again.  They will not worry.”

            “You came up with that plan all on your own?  So devious.”

            Louis smiled.  “I couldn't make myself leave.”

            “No?  I never knew this house could be so welcoming.”

            “You look very peaceful when you sleep.”

            “I have been told I talk.”

            “You were told true,” Louis laughed.  “I had the most interesting conversation with you, though not a word of it made sense.”

            “And I'll never know what you said.”

            Louis opened his mouth to respond, but stopped.

            Harry turned on his side to face him, their noses almost touching.  This close, Harry could see a night's worth of growth on Louis' normally clean-shaven checks.  “What is it?  What is going on behind those sad eyes?”

            “I have never met anyone like you before.”

            “There aren't many male prostitutes on your side of the city.”

            Louis ignored the jape.  “No one can ever find out about me.  What I am.  It would ruin my family.  The Tomlins's are very proud, and there is a certain duty expected of me.  I would bring great shame upon them, they would never understand.  I...I can't even think what my father would say.

            “You are so lucky that you do not have to hide yourself, Harry.  You are proud as you are.  You do not have to pretend.  I envy you in that.  In many ways, you are free.”  Louis spoke, so softly.  “I have hid from everyone.  No one has ever truly known me.  And...I do not have to hide from you.”

            Harry had never had someone speak so openly to him.  Everyone had their secrets, each their own personal truth to hold.  It was a safety net, a means to survive.  One could not be hurt if they held in the thing that could destroy them.  Louis was caged in his own body, living in a society that judged harshly and eternally.  Harry's heart hurt for him.  “I understand.”

            Louis nodded as he sat up and went to the window.  He pushed aside the makeshift curtain, sending a bright stream of light across the floor.  It had been so long since the fabric had been washed, dust motes flew from his hands and floated in the sunshine.

            Harry squinted.  “What are you doing?”

            “I want to look at you in the light, and I want you to see me.”

            “I've seen you in the daylight.”

            Louis sat on the bed.  “But you haven't seen _me_ in the daylight.”

            There had never been a customer of Harry's that had visited during the day.  He didn't think any of them would be desperate enough to risk being seen.  During the day they could not draw their hats over their eyes, or pull their coats up to their chins.  Even the ones who didn't want complete darkness preferred minimum candle light.

            Harry could feel Louis' eyes burning through him and instinctively he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor.  He slid into the bed and noticed Louis' hands were shaking.  He took them in his own.

            “We do not have to do this if you are not ready.”

            Louis met his eyes.  “You have such round, beautiful eyes, Harold.  They are so green.  You are so beautiful, it is as though you are not real.”

            Harry began unbuttoning Louis' shirt.  The silk was so fine it was like touching a cloud.  “You are quite lovely yourself, Louis.”

            Louis smiled.

            Harry slipped his fingers between the waistband of Louis' trousers, almost feeling a shock as skin touched skin. 

            “Wait.”

            Harry stopped.

            “I do not want _you_ to do this, if you are only doing it out of obligation.  I am not a customer.”

            “I want this very much, Louis.”  He traced his fingers up Louis' chest and saw there was very little chest hair, which was still more than what Harry had.  He then slowly removed shirt, breathing in the man before him.  Harry put his lips against Louis' collar bone, easing him gently against the pillows.  Louis had a small, yet muscular body under his fine clothes, and curves that Harry had noticed.  Despite a taut torso there was a noticeable curve under his navel, a tummy so desirable that Harry kissed it at once, and Louis laughed.

            As Harry finally got to removing Louis' pants, he found that he once he locked eyes with the blue ones he could not look anywhere else and neither could Louis, for each was hypnotized by the other.  Louis finally smiled, though his lip trembled as he spoke.  “You do indeed remind me of a quote from Shakespeare.  _'Thus hath the candle singed the moth'_.”

            Harry leaned forward and kissed the tip of Louis' nose.  “I suppose we are both fools.”

            As the sunlight danced along the floor the colors in the room changed from orange to red to yellow.  The noise from the street was loud enough to be heard in the back of the house, with its inaudible shouts and laughs.  Somewhere a dog was barking and a baby was crying. 

            Inside the house, for the first time, Harry Stiles felt as though his heart might burst.


End file.
